Before It Breaks
by freshneverfrozen
Summary: When an assassination attempt by Ulfric leaves the Dragonborn wounded in more ways then one, one man steps up to heal her body and spirit. He knows she's a hard-headed, flame of a woman that has been broken one too many times but that won't stop him from picking up the pieces others have left in their wake. 3-part standalone fic from ML&OT universe, rating will change.
1. Chapter 1

_Didn't know there was gonna be a teaser did you, my dear MLOT fans? Well, tadaa! And, its a standalone, too!_

_This is part one of a three part teaser for the upcoming sequel. Let me clarify: This is not the sequel. This should also be standalone for anyone who has not read Murder, Love, and Other Things and I think I've explained most of the context as best I can in the story. Nothing off the wall, I promise. Just Dragonborn stuff._

_**WARNING**: If you have NOT read Murder, Love, and Other Things but you ARE interested in doing so then DO NOT read this because there be spoilers abound._

_**WARNING NUMBER 2**: I've rated this "T" because there is very little language and sexual content is lacking thus far. But, if you're sensitive to bloody descriptions, stay away. You've been warned. Oh, and the rating of this story will definitely be changing._

* * *

_"But I'm feelin' no pain_  
_I'm a little lonely and my quietest friend_  
_Have I the moonlight? Have I let you in?_  
_Say it aint so, say I'm happy again_

_Say it's over, say I'm dreaming,_  
_Say I'm better than you left me_  
_Say you're sorry, I can take it_  
_Say you'll wait, say you won't_  
_Say you love me, say you don't_  
_I can make my own mistakes_  
_Let it bend before it breaks"_

_Brandi Carlile "Before It Breaks"_

Truly, Rune would never forget the sound. The woman's screams would be forever etched into his mind as deeply as the carved runes of Skyrim's Standing Stones, seemingly made permanent by magical forces far beyond his control. Magic, unfortunately, was not the reason for the way the damnable sound lingered in his ears, grating and scraping like steel against stone. The sole reason was the shear awfulness, the soul-wrenching agony that rang true with every wail.

He had been in the training room of the Cistern when the first cry pierced the air. A sharp, screeching cry for aid filled the ears of everyone within Riften's infamous Ratway. Rune immediately knew the voice and at the recognition, dread filled his heart, causing him to fumble in his training exercises. The guild master was clearly wounded, her normally melodious contralto voice far out of its normal range as it twisted her pleas in pain and panic. He and others from the Ratway were in the Cistern within moments. Across the way, near the hidden entrance that opened at the rear of Riften's Temple of Mara, the guild master and Dragonborn, Isith, was on her knees on the damp floor, her hands pressed to the left side of her face. Brynjolf was the first to reach her with Karliah at his heels.

The Dark Elf skidded to her knees beside her friend and comrade and tried her best to silence the young woman's banshee-like screams. Brynjolf was frantically tugging at the Nord woman's hands. It was only when he succeeded that Rune glimpsed the damage. The entire left side of Isith's face was drenched in blood. Thick red liquid gleamed in the dim light of the Cistern, dripping down almost lazily against the stone ground to mingle with the perpetual layer of water and filth. From this distance, Rune could assess no more before Isith had wrenched her hands free from her second's grip and covered her face once more.

The screaming did not resume and instead Rune heard her bark an order, however her voice was cracked and broken and Brynjolf was forced to relay it again.

"Get to the streets, all of you! Arm yourselves! Stormcloaks have slipped into the city!" At his command, all of the thieves bolted in various directions, snatching up the first weapons they found before darting toward the exit. Rune had just laid his hand upon a shortsword when he heard Brynjolf call for him to stay. He turned and hurried over to the larger man's side, his stride somewhat unsteady from all the commotion. He could hear Isith muttering through her bloodied fingers, her hands still locked in place.

"A small group of them," she sputtered as blood seeped from her cheek into her mouth, "Came after Maven and me while we spoke on the streets."

Brynjolf batted Karliah's hand away as the Dunmer tried to hush the other woman, her small, dark fingers still trying desperately to coax Isith up from her knees. Brynjolf, his voice managing at once to be both hurried and gentle, asked, "Does Maven live, lass?"

Isith answered him with the spit of blood on the ground. "Yes," she ground out, "Now, _help_ _me_."

Rune, his face an open book of emotions ranging from concerned to alarmed and disapproving, stood back as Brynjolf slipped his well-muscled arms under the small woman's legs and arms before lifting her into the air with ease. Rune placed his hands gently on Karliah's shoulders and urged her back so that Brynjolf would have a clear path to the cot against the far wall, the one he knew was nearest the cabinet containing all the guild's healing agents.

Rune was caught off guard as Karliah turned, her violet eyes wide with emotions that mirrored his own. "By Nocturnal, Rune, did you see her face?"

A knot formed in Rune's throat. There had been so much blood. His stomach churned as he peered over the elf's shoulder to watch as Brynjolf reached the cot. His voice a whisper, he responded, "A glimpse, yes. What has happened –"

The Nord's voice boomed through the air and Rune's name was soon echoing amidst the stone walls.

"Get your arse over here, Rune! Now!" There was no hint of the teasing tone that usual marked Brynjolf's unique brogue. In fact, even from halfway across the Cistern, Rune could see the wildness in the man's eyes. He looked like a great, red-maned lion that had been freed from captivity only to be cornered by the cruelness of a whip. He looked furious, indignant, and more than a little afraid.

Rune and Karliah darted across the room, their eyes flitting back and forth between their guild master, who lay writhing on the bed, and Brynjolf, who was rummaging frantically through the cabinets. It was only when Rune reached his guild master's bedside that he saw the true damage of the wound the woman had suffered. It was enough to make him turn away with a gasp. How the woman was still alive would puzzle him for countless nights after.

A gash, deep and jagged, had sliced clean through the left side of the young woman's face to expose both meat and bone. The white of her skull was visible through the cut, opening her face up in as if she were part of some twisted necromancer's macabre dissection. The damage stretched from her fair hairline down across to her left cheek bone in a clean-cut but crooked crescent shape. The flesh of her brow was cleaved in two and the bone below had been nicked, the evidence of the guilty blade branded upon the skull. Much deeper and Rune knew that the guild master's life would have been over before she even registered the blow. Worst of all, Isith's left eye, once a beautiful, twinkling orb of hunter green, was utterly ruined. The optical orb had been cleaved open along with her skin, sending out a flood of blood and puss from the eye socket.

Rune now understood the reason for his guild master's earlier horror. She was half-blind and would forever remain so. His heart went out to her, twisting about in his chest as he watched her flail atop the cot.

_Why would such a thing be allowed to happen to her? Why her? Gods, why not that Black-briar harridan instead? _He reached for her, his hands too callused to sooth her, resting against her unarmored shoulders. She had not been expecting an attack midday in the streets of her home. _Damn those Stormcloak cowards to Oblivion!_ Rune shook at the bitterness and animosity of the thought. He was not a violent man, neither was he a quick tempered man, but at the moment, looking down at the wounded warrior and friend in front of him, he was certain he could gut without remorse every man and woman that marched under Ulfric's banner.

"Rune!" Brynjolf's voice pulled Rune from the depths of his own mind. "Hold her still. Karliah," the Nord turned, "hold her feet."

Rune obeyed, settling on the edge of the cot so that he could press his weight against the squirming woman. He saw the healing poultice in Brynjolf's hands, saw the worry in his eyes, as he leaned over the guild master. The auburn-haired Nord's hands shook, fingers trembling against the red glass vial, and he whispered words of comfort to Skyrim's savoir. The comfort was quickly followed by a muttered apology as the vial was tilted up and the liquid poured out onto Isith's face. Her screams pierced their ears once again, sharper than any sword and cutting far deeper.

Rune winced as he felt Isith's hand grip his and her nails buried themselves in his skin, threatening to draw blood of his own. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the way they seemed to crack from the pressure, and whispered to her. He did not know if she could hear him, or that she would even care, but his words were meant to bring comfort to everyone. Karliah was at the wounded woman's feet, muttering prayers of her own. Rune could have sworn he saw the glitter of tears in the corner of Brynjolf's eyes.

Sick curiosity tempted him into glancing up at Isith's face. Brows knitted together, he watched as the potion shimmered and bubbled over the fair, freckled skin of her cheek. The potion was enough to clot the bleeding but as expected, the gaping wound remained.

"We need that damn mage!" Brynjolf hissed as he reached for another vial.

"The Altmer?" Karliah looked up from the toes of Isith's boots. "He is staying at the –"

At that moment there was a commotion from the Ratway entrance. Various expletives from the Altmeri language echoed from the chamber leading to the Flagon. Moments later, the familiar High Elf marched gracefully into view. Evrim, a trusted associate of the guild master from her days with the Companions, paused momentarily as his golden eyes assessed the scene before him. His normally immaculate white-blond hair had been mussed and his regal brow glistened with sweat. If the mud splatter on his normally pristine robes was any indication, the elf had been rather hurried in his arrival.

Evrim took a deep breath, squaring his slim shoulders, and hurried over to the thieves. "I heard the commotion in the streets when the assassination attempt took place. The entire city is in an uproar! That Black-briar woman has guards searching houses and along the roads to hunt down any other supporters of Ulfric's campaign." The elf said all this as he was tugging his sleeves up around his elbows while simultaneously taking in Isith's damaged face and nudging Brynjolf out the way, never stalling for one moment. Rune admired him silently. He had heard stories of the mage from Isith and, for as long as he had known the elf personally, they had all proven true. He was a remarkable healer, as efficient and professional as his tongue was sharp.

Rune could only hope that he proved his skills once again. The Imperial hated to count the number of times Evrim had saved the guild master's life. According to Isith, the reason for their chance meeting had been due to life-threatening injury. But that had been long ago and countless other scars and mended bones remained as evidence of their continued acquaintance.

Much to Rune's dismay, the Altmer hissed as soon as the healing process started. His delicate hands, long-fingered and graceful, were already humming with the heat of Restoration magic.

"This will not be easy to heal," he grimaced when it the dent in the bone resisted his efforts, "for this damnable woman has the worst luck of anyone I have ever met, most of which, it appears, prefers to aim for her face."

It was true, Rune acknowledge sadly. Isith had once been a lovely girl, fresh-faced and much too precious for the good of the male population. It seemed that Fate, however, did not wish for great heroes to remain aesthetically pleasing.

Isith jerked suddenly, her remaining eye snapping open. She thrashed beneath Rune and he was forced to stretch out over her abdomen to hold her still. _Such a fighter…I admire her greatly. _Karliah snapped at Brynjolf to take hold of Isith's knees and the Nord obliged. Rune wondered with some horror if Isith was in any state to use her fabled thu'um against them should she deem it necessary. Fortune was with them, however, and the woman quieted quickly.

To his dismay, Isith's voice remained frantic as she half-snarled, half asked, "Has anyone checked on the children? By Talos, where are my children?"

Rune cast Brynjolf an apprehensive glance which only expanded into full-fledged worry when he saw the other man's eyes widen, his auburn brows tugging together at the center of his forehead.

Brynjolf twisted his head so that he was looking over his shoulder at Karliah. He kept his voice low as he spoke to his fellow Nightingale. "Lass, go. Find Farkas and the twins, make sure they're unharmed." The Dunmer nodded once and released her grip on Isith's feet. She was out of sight by the time Rune had turned to watch her go.

"Karliah's taking care of it, Isith." Rune worried that his words would bring the woman little comfort but he felt that something needed to be said just the same. He kept his voice soft, suddenly thankful that the gods had seen fit to bless him with a gentle nature. "They'll be fine, I'm certain. Farkas would not let anything happen to them."

Isith's hand tightened around his. He blinked, having forgotten that she was holding it at all. The fleeting grimace that danced over her features was not out of pain - no, she seemed to be ignoring that now - but something else. Likely, pain of a different sort. Immediately, Rune regretted mentioning the warrior's from Whiterun name at a time like this. _That_ was another wound that had yet to heal. Absent-mindedly, he stroked his fingers against Isith's wrist, telling himself that it was all an effort to comfort her. It was both that and an unspoken apology for mentioning a forbidden name.

The three men remained bent over the Dragonborn's bloodied frame for nearly an hour until Evrim could heal no more. The High Elf drew his hands away, visibly drained. Sweat beaded across his brow more so than Rune could remember ever seeing it. The elf looked positively exhausted. From the way his brow was creased, rippling up the length of his high forehead and crinkling severely between his eyes, to the firm set of his lips, Rune knew that the elf was not pleased with his healing.

Brynjolf shifted around to look up at the elf. "Will she be alright?" he asked the question sounding much the same as a husband might inquire after his wife.

Evrim shook his head, fair hair slipping over his shoulders. "I could not save her eye," was all he said before turning away.

Rune frowned, glancing over at the other thief. The expression on Brynjolf's face made him immediately wish he had not looked at all. The master thief looked absolutely livid, any weariness fading from around his eyes instantly. His emerald eyes narrowed into slits, trailing after the elf's heels.

Through clinched teeth, the thief snarled, "Fix her!"

Rune flinched as Evrim whirled about, a mess of muddied, bloodied rainbow cloth. "I cannot," the healer hissed, "the damage is irreparable. She will learn to live with the handicap."

Brynjolf was on his feet at what he considered a blatant suggestion that the woman was now in some way an _invalid_. "You bloody elven bastard!" The curse was hard to understand amid the thief's quickly thickening brogue.

"Wake her, Brynjolf," Evrim warned, "And she won't be the only one with a handicap. She needs rest. Take your infatuation and temper somewhere else for it is not needed here."

All the while, Rune sat silently amid the heated exchange. His hand tightened protectively around Isith's still one. When it seemed that the two men's confrontation was over - Brynjolf's anger having been replaced with shame from the mage's rebuke - Rune was left alone with his guild master. The other thief had stalked off in the opposite direction from the healer and Rune and the woman that lay sleeping beside him were alone. He took the blissful moments of silence to study Isith's sleeping form more closely than he had ever dared when she was awake.

Sure enough, Evrim's healing had caused the earlier gaping skin to grow shut, leaving angry red patches around her cheek and eye as evidence of the Restoration magic that had been used. The redness would, of course, fade but the scar that remained would not. It curved neatly downward, no longer jagged as it had been when it was made. The skin was smoother than he expected, not puckered and gruesome as Isith's other facial scars were, though it was still plenty obvious. Evrim had been correct when he had remarked that she had bad luck when it came to keeping her face intact. Rune wondered how Isith would react when she saw the newest addition to her skin for the first time. She had never seemed a vain woman but, surely, she would be saddened by this final and definite blow to what was once beautiful.

Furthermore, Rune was curious as to how Isith would cope with the loss of her eyesight. She would have to relearn the ways of battle all over again. That, he knew, would likely be a much greater blow to her pride and rather vast ego than any scar. Looking down at her now, he found that he hurt for her.

Unwilling to leave her side, Rune slipped from the edge of the cot and settled onto the damp ground at the head of the wooden frame. He leaned back against the stone and outstretched his legs, wincing as he knees popped from disuse over the last hour and a half. Surely, he could not be getting _that_ old. He grumbled at the thought, glancing back to Isith and shaking his head. She was still so young; he almost envied her. He was certain he had at least fifteen years on her and he knew without a doubt that in that extra time he had only ever been half as strong. Never could he have endured so much physical pain and heartbreak as the Dragonborn. If he had, he would have died a bitter, angry man long ago.

Head resting against the side of the bed frame, Rune had almost dosed off when he heard the heavy scrape of stone that always announced the opening of the Cistern's secret entrance. The soft creak of feet against wood spoke of boots descending the ladder and moments later Karliah slipped into view. Rune lifted his head and noted that behind her stood the enormous hulking figure of the man his guild master loved.

Farkas was looking worse for wear, having appeared to have aged ten years since the last time Rune saw him, which had been two days ago. The man's black hair had been tied back in a fashion that Rune, somewhat shamefully, knew Isith despised. She had ranted about enough to anyone who would listen – which was everyone – saying that it was not "Farkas" enough for Farkas to where. The man's trademark war paint was also in place, another thing that Isith had mumbled about each time she passed Farkas on the street. Other than the obviously fresh worry-lines on the younger man's face and the sweat on his brow, he at least looked…well enough.

Rune clamped down on the inside of his cheek and glared at the man. "Where are Isith's children?" He spoke the question quietly, hoping that the pitch of his voice would encourage the newcomers to respond in the same fashion.

Farkas met Rune's eyes and the Imperial couldn't help but feel like he was being examined. "Our children are fine. They were in the woods with me when the Stormcloaks came. Didn't even know anything had happened."

"Where are they now?" Since Isith was not awake to ask the question herself, Rune figured it was best if he did it for her.

Farkas remained silent, his gaze still leveled on Rune. Karliah shot her friend a look as if to assure him that both the children were indeed safe. Rune accepted her wordless confirmation with a short nod. Truthfully, he already knew where the children were staying. He just wanted to see if Farkas was man enough to admit it. Rune felt it when Farkas' steely gaze finally left him and watched as the man hesitated where he stood, shifting his considerable weight from one foot to the other.

Rune groaned and moved to stand. He wondered idly if it was his presence by Isith's cot that was keeping Farkas from approaching. He was a polite man, always had been, and he knew that now was not the time for bitterness, regardless of whether or not it was he that had been offended. Isith had already passed judgment on the Companion and no doubt she would likely agree to Farkas' presence.

As he stood, Rune rolled his shoulders in an attempt to loosen them. Stone was not an accommodating material for the body. He looked to Farkas and quietly, with some reluctance, reassured him, "She is asleep, my friend, she will not know if you approach."

Farkas covered the distance in a few long steps and came to rest at the edge of where Isith lay. She was still sleeping peacefully, a blessed change from her earlier state of awareness. Rune gave the other man room, stepping a respectful distance away but remaining at an angle that allowed him to study the warrior's face. Curiosity had gotten the better of him once again.

Farkas' icy blue eyes roamed over Isith's visage. Not surprisingly, he appeared to linger on the Dragonborn's freshest scar. Rune was relieved to see that there was no trace of revulsion on the man's face. He continued to look down at the woman with measured acceptance, blinking every so often as he studied the wound. Finally, the Companion looked away.

His eyes found Rune again and he rolled his impossibly muscular shoulders. His voice reminded Rune of boots tracking through gravel when he spoke. "She will pull through. Always does." Emotion tinged each word and, for the briefest moments, Rune was almost able to ignore what the words insinuated. Unfortunately, his sharp mind caught hold to what he deemed uncharacteristically cold passivity coming from the bigger man and refused to let go.

'_Always does.' One day she will not be so lucky._

Rune's blood heated beneath his skin, sending a rush of color to his swarthy cheeks. "Your woman almost died today, Companion. Truly, had her wound been a fraction deeper, her head would have been cleaved in two." Rarely was Rune's voice etched in such warning. Karliah, much too perceptive for her own good, noticed and she narrowed her hazy purple eyes at her brother-in-arms. She mouthed his name once, warning him.

Farkas shrugged his shoulders. "Everyone always underestimates her -"

Rune's temper continued to flare and he cut the warrior short. "Those Stormcloaks came to kill her. Not only Maven, but _her_." He jabbed a finger at Isith's limp figure. He sucked at his teeth rudely as he scoffed, "The worst of the damage remains unseen. She lost one of her eyes, Farkas. She is not 'fine'."

Farkas' brows rose into his hairline to reveal genuine surprise. "No…"

He glanced at the sleeping woman. Guilt heated his neck as a telltale flush tinged his skin an embarrassing shade of pink. It surprised Rune when the Companion reached out to brush a thick-knuckled finger along the edge of Isith's jaw. In that moment, Rune was taken aback by how much the two of them looked as they had three years earlier…before everything. There was worry in Farkas' eyes, coupled with shame. The emotion was broadcast so strongly that it evident he found the fact harder to swallow than anyone else.

The mountain of a man snapped out of whatever reverie he was in as quickly as he had entered it. He cut his eyes up and Rune and then at Karliah. "When," Farkas took and uneasy breath, "when she awakes, tell'er that I said I'm sorry. Tell her that I'll help with whatever she needs."

Just like that, any sympathy Rune felt for the man was gone with the dank, damp wind. His eyes came together as narrow slits so that only the smallest amount of their dark depths was able to be seen. He bit his tongue and refused to speak the biting words that were currently demanding to be spoken. Instead, he took a steadying breath and measured each and every careful word, "Brynjolf will likely be here to check on her soon. You should go, Companion. Karliah will tell Isith you stopped by."

Farkas recognized from the chill in the Imperial's voice that he had been dismissed. He eyed the smaller man with contempt, an emotion that the Nord had only mastered recently. He leaned down then with both the thieves watching him, both wearing a mask of unreadable emotions. Rune curled his lip when he saw Farkas press his mouth to Isith's clammy forehead. The large Nord wavered over her for a moment too long before murmuring again, more to himself than anyone else, that "Isith would pull through."

With those parting words, Farkas retreated back up the exit, likely heading straight to his newest abode, Rune knew, an abode that was not with the guild master that lay wounded and unmoving on the bed.

"Everyone has sins to atone for, Rune." Karliah's voice startled Rune so that he snapped his eyes away from the hatch leading to the surface. She placed a friendly hand on the Imperial's forearm and gave it a genial squeeze. Her violet eyes, however, told him that she was quite serious. "You should not be so hard on the man."

"He is a coward."

"Isith would not have you believe such a thing." Karliah turned her head to watch Isith sadly. "You're a faithful friend, Rune, but don't become too protective of her now. She'll need strength, not pity, when she awakes."

The male thief silently agreed and closed his eyes to steady himself. The Dark Elf was right as usual and the wisdom of her numerous years rang clear in the gentle firmness of her voice.

Shamed the woman's words and his bitterness at something that did not concern him, Rune suddenly felt the overwhelming need to be alone. "You should go check on Brynjolf. I'll stay and watch over the guild master." He nudged the elf toward the door. "Go on, Karliah, please."

The elf read him clear enough though she did not show it. She nodded once and patted his arm again before slinking like a shadow from the Cistern. Rune did not watch her go this time; instead, he sat back down against the wall and turned himself so that he keep a watchful eye on his leader. With the faith of an old dog, if he could prevent any harm from coming to her as she slept, he would do so with all the patience in the world.

* * *

_Hope you weren't too confused. Any characters you don't recognize are of my own creation, the rest belong to, you guessed it, Bethesda! Anyway, this was just a warm up. The next chapter will bump the rating up (just forewarning you youngins') and it will not be because of blood and guts._

_Please don't flame me for this if you don't like the way the story appears to have turned. They call 'em teasers for a reason._

_Let me know what you think, pretty please. Got a review a while back saying that my writing style had changed a bit so I'm trying to revert to my old, more descriptive self but I think I might have gone overboard. _

_~Fnf~_


	2. Chapter 2

_Part two. _

_I decided not to change the rating since there is nothing explicit. If you think for any reason at all that I should amend that, please let me know. One request and I will._

_I've left a rather long author's note at the bottom for anyone who might be interested. An important issue was brought up by someone over PM. _

_**Oh**, and am I the only weirdo that imagines Rune as looking a hella lot like Jason Isaacs in the Patriot only scruffier. _

_I__'m a total creep. Ack._

* * *

_"I'm all right. Don't I seem to be?_  
_Aren't I swinging on the stars?_  
_Don't I wear them on my sleeve?_  
_When you're looking for a crossroads,_  
_It happens every day_  
_And whichever way you turn,_  
_I'm gonna turn the other way_

_Say it's over, say I'm dreaming,_  
_Say I'm better than you left me_  
_Say you're sorry, I can take it_  
_Say you'll wait, say you won't_  
_Say you love me, say you don't_  
_I can make my own mistakes_  
_Learn to let it bend before it breaks"_

_Brandi Carlile, "Before it Breaks"_

When Rune found her she was in as big a mess as he had ever seen her, life threatening occasions notwithstanding. The Dragonborn's single green eye was hazy, seeming to float within her skull after having had one too many drinks. Her other eye, opal white in color but whole after a month of recuperation since she'd lost it, gave no indication of her current state of inebriation other than the way the scarred lid sagged lazily as she tried not to dose off into her drink.

Drinks, he had noticed, to which she had taken only recently. It had become somewhat habitual for her to wind up knee deep in liquor after a long day, particularly those days in which the object of her no-longer-affections avoided her. Drowning her sorrows at the expense of her liver appeared to be a perfectly acceptable way to cope, at least in her rattled mind.

He had seen her many nights at the Bee and Barb, always alone but hardly ever sober. No one seemed to drink with her since her habit had started. Even Brynjolf and Karliah, the thieves which she was closest to, had given up weeks earlier in their efforts to stall her downward spiral. Losing her eye and, thus, her battle prowess had done nothing to help the already floundering Dragonborn.

Rune sighed loudly and dragged a nervous hand through his hair. Brynjolf had warned him that it would come this.

.

* * *

.

_She always came to the Ratway these days. Each time she would return to the city, having been off redeeming herself by playing Tullius's lapdog, only to stumble in, usually wounded. Then she bathed, ate, and left – always in that order. Only after doing that would she finally go home to the little farm house outside of the city. She had explained the reason behind the process to Brynjolf once, saying that she had made the mistake of returning home after a brutal skirmish with the Stormcloaks. "A mistake," she had called it. And it had been. Scratched and bruised with blood still caked in her hair, she had scared the children as soon as she'd walked in the door. _

_And so she came to the Ratway now._

_The most recent time, not long after she had been promoted to the rank of Praefect, Isith did not quite make all the way to the sewers. Maven Black-briar's housecarl, Maul, had found her near the city gates and had bore her limping figure the rest of the way before depositing her near Brynjolf's desk. _

_The auburn-haired Nord had had a fright when he had seen the ruptured stitches near her thigh. She'd explained that she had been patched up after the battle at Fort Dunstad. Apparently, there had been no mages to restore the gash magically. He had given her a few healing tonics, cleaned her up, and returned her home._

_That had been another "mistake."_

_Headed away from the farmhouse after helping Isith inside, Brynjolf had not really meant to overhear Farkas worrying loudly over Isith who was clunking around in the house. His interest had been piqued, however, and surely it would do no harm to listen. The Nord from Whiterun was such a big fellow to worry like he did._

_Brynjolf, though, had not liked what he'd heard. The worrying and subsequent rebuttals and assurances had escalated into heated words shortly thereafter._

_Isith had promised to stay home and help raise the children._

_Isith had yet to fulfill that promise._

_She had ranted that Skyrim was on the edge of war – that she had not fought so hard for years against Alduin just to see a man like Ulfric Stormcloak tear the country apart at the seams. But, Farkas, Brynjolf noticed, was having none of it. _

_Needless to say, Brynjolf was still waiting outside when Farkas had stormed out. Never had the man been so livid. It had been quite a shock for the master thief. But Brynjolf had seen the misery in the man's eyes, swirling about amidst the icy blue._

"_She promised not to leave again," Farkas had said, stopping just short of the road. He had not turned to look at the thief._

_Brynjolf had placed a solid hand on the man's shoulder. "So I heard, lad."_

_But, it turned out, leaving again was Isith's third mistake._

_._

* * *

_._

That same day only hours earlier Isith had been the cheerful professional Rune knew her to be whenever eyes were on her. However, nights nowadays caused her to transform into an entirely different person and that person, as it was at this moment, was one he pitied greatly.

Not that he would _ever_ tell her that. Rune prided himself on his distinct lack of foolishness, after all.

So it was that he decided to approach her that night, almost warily at first with his hands sliding uncertainly through his mud-brown hair as he tried to gather his thoughts. He could be direct and scold her for her drunken proclivities or, and he was truly leaning toward this option, he could simply join her and keep her from embarrassing herself for at least one night.

Gathering his courage, Rune approached his guild master, sliding wordlessly onto the stool beside hers. Her gaze found him immediately and he realized that she was not so out of her wits as he had first thought.

"Rune." She greeted him with a congenial smile, nodding her head politely.

"Guild master," he responded in return, "Enjoying some Riften's own Blackbriar mead, I see."

She smirked at him and in that instant he realized that she had already caught on to his intentions. A drunken fool she was not, it seemed.

Instead of scolding him, however, she only offered him a second smile, this one considerably more restrained than the first.

"Care to join me?" she asked.

"If you'll let me." He meant it, just as he always meant everything he said to her. He had considered her a friend long before he ever called her "guild master" and he felt there was no harm in reminding her of that fact during nights like this.

He watched as Isith, a name by which he rarely called her, waved the Argonian barmaid over and called for a round of mead.

.

* * *

.

_Thrynn and Cynric had been at their guild master's side in the Bee and Barb. They needed an excuse to drink and the guild master's promotion to the esteemed position of Tribune seemed like reason enough. After she had downed her first cider, she had told them of her children, speaking so fondly of them that both the single men were driven to think of what-ifs and could-have-beens. The twins were talking in whole sentences now. The boy liked to read and the girl preferred to torment him as he did so. The three of them had had a good laugh at that. _

_It was only moments later that the good times ceased._

_Cynric had been on the verge of ordering another round for Thrynn and himself plus a cider for the woman. He had noticed when a tall, armored figure had slipped in through the door with a smaller, less bulky shadow skulking at her heels. Cynric had thought nothing of it._

_The order had just left his lips when from the corner of his eye he saw a gauntleted hand come down on Isith's shoulder. Thrynn had been the first to turn, his beady eyes narrowing on the woman behind his guild master. Cynric waved the order off and joined his friend in a double-edged glare. Isith remained merry until she happened to notice whose hand was on her shoulder. The happy twinkle went from her eyes as she turned._

_The other woman had her lips pursed together and her nose – which had been broken more than once - scrunched as if she smelled something foul. _

_She had said plainly, "I have words for you, Isith Briar-blood."_

_Thrynn had stood and, though he was not quite as tall as the armored woman, he had nosed his way into her face just the same. "Shove off, you." Cynric seconded the request with a nod._

"_Criminal scum like you should count yourselves lucky that this city continues to endure your presence. I'll see to it that you and your ilk are gone from it one day," the woman had spat, "but not today."_

_A single glance at Isith had left both the male thieves worried. The guild master's face was stony and her eyes hard as she looked over the larger woman. Truth be told, both men had both heard rumors concerning this armored woman and her recent…acquaintance. Both Thrynn and Cynric had remained silent when Isith had stood and brushed brusquely past the other woman. Both females left out the back door. Cynric and Thrynn followed._

_The men had not taken three steps out the door when they had watched the taller woman shove a finger into the guild master's chest. The words that followed sent both the thieves running after for Brynjolf. _

"_You are a sorry excuse of a woman, Isith Briar-blood! Ilk like you are the worst kind to draw breath in this land. A criminal unfit to raise her family! A woman who leaves her children's father to bring them up alone! I will not stand for the example you set for those little ones. And Farkas – oh, poor Farkas! That man rues the day he met you, you filth, I know he does!"_

_Silence had descended the market place by the time Thrynn and Cynric had reached the entrance to the Cistern. It was only when the stone grate had been pushed back that the first shouts went up. _

_._

* * *

.

When their drinks came - his first and what he guessed to be her fourth or fifth or possibly sixth - she slid his over to him, the mug's path just wobbly enough to send out only have its contents. Grinning at him cheekily, she said, "I'm assuming you can stomach this stuff better than I, Rune. It's god-awful to tell the truth."

"We'll see won't we?" He took a sip. "I trust you won't tell anyone if I prove to not have your Nordic tolerance for this swill."

"Better watch yourself, Rune. There are many who would take offence to your insulting this fine Blackbriar…you know what? Swill is good word for it. Yes, let's agree on that."

He noticed that her words were only marginally slurred. It granted him some reassurance that perhaps she had not become the drunkard that city gossip suggested. Settling against the bar he took his time to study her. During the rise and subsequent fall of her return from a stint of anonymity, it appeared that time had been relatively kind to the young woman. Her long hair suited her. It was much more feminine than the harsh man's cut she had sported during the earlier years he'd known her. Her face, unfortunately, had been scarred past the point of being pleasing to most men. Her once gentle, youthful features now bore the brunt of a life hard-lived. Rarely these days did her remaining eye twinkle mischievously and he found that the observation saddened him unexplainably.

Still, he had noticed that those that knew her, himself included, chose to remember her as the fresh-faced girl who had walked into the Ratway a few years earlier. That girl had most certainly been beddable. Thinking that, he cringed into his drink. It was another thought that was best left unsaid. It was those unspoken thoughts that took him back to unwanted memories. He would be needing another drink after all.

.

* * *

.

_Isith had gone mad. _

_She had gone far beyond mad. She was a crazed thing, her eyes alight with fire red-hot, sparking as if the gates of some hellish plane of Oblivion had opened wide. An armored woman lay on the ground at Isith's feet, beaten and bloodied, her yellow hair splayed across her face and tangling at the junction of her gaping mouth._

_The townspeople had begun to back slowly away from the aftermath of the brawl…no, it had not been a brawl. It had been a blatant attack. They had watched the entire scene unfold and they were all the more leery for it. Some of them whispered under their breaths. Some continued to stare morbidly at the blood that dripped to the ground from the Dragonborn's knuckles. All of them were afraid._

_This had been brewing for a long while. They recognized the truth that lay writ in the destruction before them._

_The savoir of Skyrim was totally unhinged._

_When the guards came they were followed closely by the city's available healers. The healers would do what they could for the other woman and the guards would likely arrest the Dragonborn. The citizens of Riften wavered still, unwilling to turn away until the most dangerous force in all of Skyrim had been led away in chains. Certainly, it was not a betrayal on their part – that's what each and every one of them told themselves. But, surely, even this woman had to be subject to the law. Violence in the streets would not be tolerated from someone as powerful as her especially._

_But the guards did not force her to her knees and cuff her in irons. The captain approached her cautiously, his hand on his undrawn sword. Isith only tore her eyes off the other woman as the healers led her away. When the woman was out of sight, the Dragonborn finally turned to the captain. She remained eerily silent, the fire still raging just below the surface. The captain did not lower his voice when he told her that Maven would speak to her immediately concerning her actions. _

_No one in the crowd was surprised. Maven had Isith Briar-blood in her pocket these days. It was no longer the other way around. _

_The murmuring continued after Isith had been led away, up towards the Keep. Most everyone looked to each other to confirm what they had just seen. Instead of talking, Madesi got to work cleaning the blood from the ground in front of his stall._

_And even when he had stopped scrubbing, plenty of the bright red liquid remained._

_._

* * *

.

"What're you thinking about, Rune?"

Isith's voice drew him abruptly out of his melancholy and the resulting blank-faced stare he gave her caused her to chuckle. It was a sad noise, though, and he suddenly became determined to brighten the lady's night if it was possible. He didn't possess Brynjolf's easy charm or Delvin's wit or even that blighter Thrynn's good looks but he knew he was easy to talk to at least.

"Sorry, guild master. I was thinking about you, honestly."

"Oh," she didn't miss a beat before leaning conspiratorially closer to him, "Was it dirty?"

Rune paled suddenly, caught completely off guard. She had never flirted with _him_ before. He fumbled for a response as his naturally gentle manner failed him. Sensing his discomfort, Isith drew back and saved his helpless, sputtering self.

"Relax, friend. Your guild master is only joking." He only just managed to catch the "unfortunately" she muttered under her breath before tilting her mug up to empty it.

The feeling of disappointment that struck him out of the blue was neither welcome nor acknowledged. There was a time when he had considered pursuing a younger Isith but Brynjolf had quickly beaten him to the punch and he had let go of any further attraction. Gulping down a mouthful of mead he refused to remember anything concerning those feelings.

Realizing that he was failing in his self-appointed task he thought of anything, anything at all, to say before he managed, "How are you?"

A blond eyebrow cocked in response as Isith gave him a sideways look. "Clearly I'm peachy, Rune. Notice all the liquor that I have _not_ drowned myself in." She waved a hand at the impressive line of mugs that stretched on the bar in front of her.

Rune whistled through his teeth. "I have some catching up to do, I see."

"Then let's have another. I'll even order a cider this time to make it easier on you."

He grinned, mostly out of relief that she would slow down on her descent into alcoholism, and muttered, "How gracious of you."

Two ciders and three ales later, Rune and Isith had managed to bypass all awkwardness and had settled into a mutually appreciative companionship. His obvious buzz left him with a looser tongue than usual and he rambled on about exploits from his younger days, regaling her with amusing tales of his poor and misspent youth. She seemed to find each story hilarious if the wild tossing back of her head was any indication. It pleased him to know that he could bring her some amount of joy and he continued to prattle on.

Eventually, when the stories had stopped, Isith had said, "I never pictured you as a childhood delinquent, Rune. How novel."

"Ah, my father was disappointed but I couldn't help myself. Plus, I only ever stole what was needed," he paused before adding, "Mostly. Perhaps a trinket here and there for a pretty girl."

"Oh, and where's my trinket, then?" She asked the question with a face as serious as he had ever seen and he found himself succumbing to momentary panic before deciding on what was probably the cheekiest thing he'd ever said to her.

"I said pretty girls, Isith. Not beautiful ones."

At that, his guild master laughed heartily, her hand striking out to land against his thigh and her body leaning over to nudge him jovially. His own body responded involuntarily to the sudden contact and he was pushing against her in return before he could stop himself. His shoulder felt much warmer than it had before she had touched him.

"Damn liar. You always were a charmer, I'll give you that."

That statement earned her a frown from Rune albeit not a serious one. "You think I'm charming? You have had too much to drink, my friend."

Isith rolled her shoulders unapologetically before she reached out with one hand towards Rune's half-full tankard. Before he realized what she was doing her hand was at the bottom of his mug, tilting it up to his lips.

She smiled at him and as he started to drink, she said, "And you haven't had enough, friend. Drink up."

He obliged her with less reluctance than he would have before he entered the bar. Gulping down the rest of the mead, he let the warm bittersweet liquid settle in his belly, hardly aware as the effects started to go to his head as well. He wiped his hand over his mouth to clear away any residue from the honey-colored liquid before letting his eyes settle once more on the woman at his side. She seemed to be enjoying herself and particularly, he noticed with no small amount of pleasure, his company.

She smiled when she caught his gaze on her and for a moment the scars and burn marks that marred her face seemed to fade away, leaving behind a happy, carefree visage that reminded him much too much of years earlier.

By the time he realized what he was doing it was too late to put a stop to it. One hand went out to her as he gingerly brushed the tips of his fingers through one side of her pale hair, tucking the strands behind her ears to expose more of her face. If she minded at all, she did not show it and instead leveled her eyes on his. Her lips quirked at the corners in what was not quite a smile but it made something inside Rune tingle just the same.

He had spent more time with Isith in the last month than he had in the past six put together. He had been there all throughout her healing process, side by side with Brynjolf each day. When she needed a sparring partner, Rune was there, willing and ready to go as slow and easy as she needed. Brynjolf and Karliah had both given him a pat on the back for the time he was taking with her, although truth be told, the auburn haired Nord had given him one or two territorial warning glances that translated on a distinctly male level. Even now, Rune did not mean to encroach on what another man might consider to be his territory. He simply wanted to help his guild master enjoy the night. If that meant taking any of her advances in stride, so be it. His body had already deemed that they were not unwelcome.

"You're doing it again, you know."

Rune looked up from his drink. "What?"

"Thinking. Being quiet. That's bad news, Rune, don't do it." Isith smiled at him warmly but the feeling did not quite make it to her eyes. She knew what she was talking about and had seen fit to warn him.

Rune could only imagine that she had quite a lot to say to herself after the past few months. Maybe that was why she drank so heavily at night, away from the hustle and bustle of the guild. The liquor drowned out the sound of her own voice in her head.

In a gesture of companionship, he reached out and placed his hand on hers, his calluses brushing the branded scar-tissue of the appendage. Her hand had suffered one of many burns on her body. He squeezed her fingers once as he told her, "Feel free to think aloud, guild master. I'll listen."

She responded quietly, just loud enough for him to hear her, "You're not the first man that has said that to me." She shook herself, sending a tangle of fine blonde hair into her eyes.

"It'll do no harm to either of I suppose. But," she held his gaze steadily, narrowing her one eye on him, "If you go running to Karliah about what I say, I'll thrash you." A smile broke over her lips suddenly. "I can even do it with one eye closed."

Rune couldn't help but laugh, throwing his own head merrily. It did him good to see that she had managed to keep her since of humor.

Taking a long drink of her cider, Isith let the spicy liquid settle in her throat before she divulged her inner most thoughts. When she started to speak, Rune noticed that her grip on his hand tightened. She said, "Do you know what it's like to give everything for a man only to have it be for naught in the end? I've defeated everything Skyrim has thrown at me – gods, dragons, death itself, even. Came out smelling like roses most of the time, too.

"But the only thing that has ever taken me to my knees and held me there is love. That particular feeling is a tough son-of-a-bitch, Rune." She looked into her cup and chuffed to herself, her lips quirking humorously amid the warm liquid. "I'm being awfully depressing all of a sudden, my friend. I apologize."

"No harm done, guild master." He had asked her for it, hadn't he? "There's not a man in the guild who would mind lending you a shoulder to cry on."

Isith grinned at him, her good eye sparkling in the warm light. "Ha! Rune, you lying bastard. Even Brynjolf is tired of humoring my miserable belly-aching." Her words came out in a jumble of girlish giggles.

Rune could only shrug. He had her going now, smiling and laughing the way she was. Might as well continue. Winking at her, he replied, "Well, I hear he takes your mind off things at least."

"Rune! You rogue –"

Rune smiled sheepishly, "No, really, I _hear_ you. It's…rather awkward at times. Makes it hard for a man to focus."

"Really? Jealous are you?" A single fair eyebrow rose up at an angle as she looked at him. Her lips pursed together impatiently as she waited for his answer.

The conversation had taken quite an interesting turn and Rune briefly wondered if he should find some way to escape it. He could not go head to head with her innuendo and wit and expect to be the victor. He tried his best to back track.

"Mmm, curious is a better word," he focused his caramel gaze on her before adding, "With all due respect."

_What?! Oh, Talos, that didn't sound at all like I meant for it. _Rune's teeth clamped down roughly on his tongue. At some point during the night he had turned into a sleazy bastard and, frankly, it embarrassed him. He was sounding more and more like Delvin with every word he uttered.

Isith's response did not help matters. Though her voice was serious, the suggestive tilt of her lips told another, vastly different story. She braced herself against the table, turning her body so that she was facing the man at her side.

"You're welcome to come to me with any needs you have, Rune. I keep an open bedroom door policy nowadays."

Something within Rune heated at that moment, twisting and tickling a ways below his stomach. He needed to put a stop to this right now. Isith, no matter what emotional state she happened to be in, was still his guild master. It did not matter that she was a woman on top of that. No, he needed to forget that fact all together.

Giving her half a nervous smile, Rune did his best to scoot back subtly so as not to offend her outright. He tried to keep his voice even as he replied, "You're being awfully fresh tonight, Isith. Too much to drink?"

"And there he goes," the woman mumbled to herself, almost sadly. "I've chased you off. But yes, I have had rather a lot to drink."

For the first time since he had taken her hand many minutes earlier, she extricated her fingers from his and followed the movement up with a polite cough. Something unnamed flashed over Rune's features before disappearing as he forced whatever it was away from the surface.

Their night appeared to be over. Whether it was for good or ill, Rune did not know. He only hoped that he had not made matters worse. He slipped off his barstool and tilted his tankard up to finish off the last of his mead before pushing away from the counter. There was more in the mug than he had initially thought and it all flooded down the back of his throat, leaving him with a noticeably stronger buzz. He cleared his throat and did what he could to be a gentleman.

He suggested, "Perhaps I'd best get you home then, guild master. Can't have you falling flat of your face in a drunken stupor when I'm capable of preventing it."

Waiting for her consent, which came as a short nod, he slipped an arm around her waist before and helped her off the seat. She sagged against him briefly before getting her bearings, the alcohol rushing to her head much the same way it had done to Rune. To steady herself, she slinked one arm around Rune's back and wedged her hand under his arm to secure her grip. Rune ignored the heat radiating off her body and found himself wishing that he had worn his leather armor so that she would not be quite so close. It was hard to keep his head clear when she fit so snuggly at his side.

He cleared his throat again which earned him an amused glance from his leader.

"Develop a cough, Rune?"

Flushing, he shook his head. "Come on," he mumbled and began to guide her from the bar. Whatever defenses she had against the alcohol while sitting down fell away as soon as she took the first step. She wavered at Rune's side, unsteady, before sucking in a deep breath and moving on. She put up little resistance, he noticed, and allowed him to escort her toward the door.

When they were outside, Rune asked, "To your home or the Cistern, guild master?"

Isith thought for a moment, her good eye flicking skyward up. "Mmm, the Cistern I think. The children are home tonight and its best they not see their dear mother like this."

"Fair point. To the guild we go then. Please, try not to trip on my boots." He smiled at her but it seemed she didn't notice. Her mind had retreated elsewhere and he feared it was now beyond his reach. She wore the same look she always got when mentioning her son and daughter and Rune immediately realized what she was thinking about. He gave her a friendly squeeze and, in a low voice, said, "You know, Isith, you do an admirable job as a mother to those two. No one faults you for the hand fate dealt has you."

Isith pressed her head to his shoulder as they continued to walk. She sighed and the weight seemed to be lifted from her shoulders. Unfortunately, it settled right back down a few steps later.

"You're much too sweet for your own good, Rune. If I was a good mother I would be sober and headed home to a husband. Unfortunately, I am neither sober nor do I have a husband."

"I've noticed both accounts, guild master."

His step faltered as the words left his mouth. He hadn't meant to say that. He should have said anything but that. His normally swarthy skin went red in the moonlight and he looked away. Isith stopped beside him and he tried not to notice the way both her eyes focused on him in the darkness. Rune snatched his arm away from her waist and took a step backward. He knew well and good that he looked utterly abashed. She was not blind enough to miss that.

"I am sorry, Isith. I…that was not I meant to say." He continued to look away and found reprieve in the endless depth of the stars above. He could not look at her. He didn't want to watch as she chastised him.

"Rune," Isith took a wobbly step forward.

She overestimated her ability to remain upright on her own and one of her hands fished out to steady herself. It came to rest at the center of his chest, her fingers gripping the rough fabric of his tunic and pulling it down. Rune's breath hitched. He should have just kept his hand on her waist…that would have been more bearable. Squeezing his eyes shut, he did his best not watch her as she leaned forward, her entire body coming to rest against his.

When he felt the soft brush of her mouth over his, his eyes snapped open in an effort to reinforce what his other senses were telling him. He was not mistaken. His guild master did indeed have her lips on his. Her eyes were closed and her movements gentle and testing. It wasn't until he felt the whisper of her tongue against his bottom lip that he found himself able to respond. What resistance he had managed to build up during their short walk fell apart and he was soon pulling her to him. His hands glided down the length of her back and came to rest in its feminine curve. It had been a long time since Rune had had a woman in his arms and he had the fleeting notion that he might be rusty at what was expected of him. But his lips moved against Isith's with ease, granting her passage to explore more thoroughly. He began to mimic her efforts, pleased to taste the cider's tang against her tongue.

All too quickly, an undeniable want sprang to life and Rune was forced to pull away, leaving the both of them panting, their foreheads pressed against each other's.

"Don't apologize to me, Rune," she whispered, "You have not offended me."

"I, uh, should get you back, Isith. It would be imprudent for you to be seen –"

"With you?" Isith's brows rocketed into her hairline, causing the scar tissue on her face to tug oddly upwards. "I'll have you know that I'm the Dragonborn and can go around kissing whomever I damn well please."

"And if Farkas saw you? What then?"

Isith sobered at the mention of Farkas' name. She sighed, her chin falling down to meet her chest. "Well," she mumbled, "I suppose he and I would be even then."

To anyone else it would have sounded as if she were using Rune as a substitute but he knew her well enough to know that was not the case. He understood that she simply wanted to feel something other than lonely. Reaching out, he tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear, smoothing it down and letting his fingers rest against her skin for a moment.

Isith responded with a quiet murmur of pleasure he was certain she could have restrained had she been more sober. All the same it still sent a bolt of excitement through him that he was certain _he_ could have restrained if not under the exact same conditions. With nothing left to say, they resumed their unhurried pace to the Cistern.

Rune's mind was turning all the while. He had just kissed his guild master and that really shouldn't be acceptable. He knew he lacked the personality to pull off such a tryst, unlike Brynjolf. The master thief and the guild master had resumed their former companionship months earlier after Isith's other relationship had stalled in the mud.

As far as Rune knew, Brynjolf's dalliance with Isith had never been exclusive. He had wronged neither Brynjolf nor Farkas by kissing her tonight. Morality was not the main issue for him, however. Getting involved with this particular woman was a bad idea all around. He took orders from her, looked after her, and practically lived with her. Yet, he could not ignore the electric feeling that ghosted through his core every time he felt her graze his side. It was a horrible mess all around.

After reaching her private room in the Cistern, Rune deposited her on the bed, untangling her arms from his as she slipped limply out of his grip.

"You truly are a saint, Rune." She smiled up at him as she reclined back against the bed. Her hands went behind her so that she could lean back and admire him.

"No, guild master. I really am not." Rune couldn't keep the huskiness from his voice and he realized with horror that Isith had caught it as well. It was time for him to go. Looking down at her on the bed was going to make this all the more hard. He could still feel the tingle of her lips on his, could still feel that electricity pumping up his spine.

Isith caught his hand before he could turn away. "What are you then?"

"Just a man."

She cracked a lopsided grin and gave him a look that clearly meant "obviously."

"Men have needs, Rune. Let me help with yours," she sat up and took his other hand while her mouth tilted up suggestively, "_Please_."

"As you say, guild master."

With that, he tossed aside what little restraint he had left. If she was asking him there was little point in fighting her. He was going to take her to bed and nothing was stopping him. He snatched her up from the mattress, her body rising easily to meet his, and he crashed his lips down upon hers. He pulled away as suddenly as he had kissed her and peered down into her eyes, one milky white, one too darkened by arousal to reveal any color. Looking into them he found the courage he needed to continue. He pressed his lips to hers again, this time more tentatively. It was not his intention to be rough with her; rough wasn't what she needed.

Her lips parted for his and he was able to probe further inside, relishing the wet warmth as her teeth nipped at his lips. She groaned against him, a sound that drove him to bring his hands to her hair, wrapping the blond strands around his fingers possessively.

He was well on his way to jerking her shirt over her head when he sensed the presence behind him. As soon as he stilled, Karliah cleared her throat politely and offered the pair an apologetic but knowing smile. The spell broken, Rune tugged his mouth away from the woman still squirming in his arms.

"Isith," he whispered quietly, pointing at the elf standing in the doorway. The guild master sighed before untangling herself gracefully from his arms.

Her cheeks aflame with a rosy blush, she straitened her shirt before asking, "Something you need, Karliah?" Rune could only marvel at her nonchalance. He felt like a teenager who had just been caught fooling around in a stable.

"There is someone here to see you." Karliah glanced back the way she came. "It's the Altmer."

"Evrim's not nearly as much fun as what Rune and I had in mind. Let him wait." It was Rune's cheeks that were blushing then.

Karliah shook her head, chocolate colored hair slipping over her shoulders. She appeared unaffected by Isith's comment. Rune supposed the elf had likely found herself in the same situation with Gallus a time or two. She did not relent, though. "The man is rather impatient, Isith. Perhaps you had better see what he wants."

Rune watched Isith's shoulders droop as she nodded her head. He couldn't have that. She turned her face up to look at him when he nudged her, saying, "Go on, Isith. You've got all the time in the world."

.

* * *

.

_This AN isn't relevant to the story so you don't have to read it if you don't want. And yes, I realize that this may be better suited if placed on my profile, not in my story. I, your esteemed author, feel that it should be addressed for all to see._

_Some of you, since you're on this site to begin with, might be aspiring writers looking to get better from the abundance of constructive criticism and praise that is readily available from all decent folk/human beings with souls that make up 's populace._

_Anyway, I woke up this morning to a rather eye-opening PM in my mailbox from a younger reader who has asked me for help a few times after reading MLOT. This time she was asking about a troll that has been spotted lurking in my review section. It seemed that she had suffered a similar problem on one of her stories. Well, this reader (I'm not trying to single you out, deary, but you got me thinking) said that she was curious as to how you're supposed to deal with – cover your eyes young ones – shit like that (my words, not hers). _

_This goes for any of you, especially if you're young and/or self-conscious about posting on the internet for the whole world to read. I could sit here and tell you that these trolls are wallowing d-bags that live in their parents' basements, too lazy or ashamed to set foot in the outside world and as a result they decide it's a good idea to insult people anonymously. That's BS. They're normal people (well, minus a soul). _

_When you post something for others to read, you're not only putting your work for criticism but your also opening __**yourself**__ up for criticism you might not be used to. It comes with the territory. It's how we get better and learn to roll with the literary punches. You publish an original book? People are gonna love it, hate it, and everything else in between. _

_Other people, whether they're the aforementioned d-bags or not, will always be able to find things wrong with your writing that would never have occurred to you. Find the good in the bad and get better. Don't take the terrible things people say on the internet as anything more than a grain of salt. For the Lord's sake, DON'T let it ruin your day. Chin up, kiddies. And rest easy knowing that you've got me and plenty of others to help point out all the good in your hard work._

_Here endeth the lesson._

_Thanks for reading._

_~Freshie~_


	3. Chapter 3

_Final part of the teaser. There are clues to the sequel if you look close enough. Oh, and a little extra something for paradise lost and anonymous._

* * *

.

The short walk from the city gates to the farmhouse was pleasant enough. The weather was still warm for the middle of fall in the Rift and had just enough of a nip in the air to keep a person from sweating. Rune covered the distance in only a few minutes, his arms loaded down with ledgers and scrolls, most of which had plans drawn out over them, detailed layouts of some of Skyrim's wealthiest homes. Brynjolf had told him earlier that morning to that they were delivered to Isith by lunch time. Brynjolf was going for a drink and, for some unimaginable reason, everyone else had volunteered Rune to be the one to take the plans to the guild master.

When he saw her, she was seated outside, her legs criss-crossed under her as she reclined back in the sunlight. Two small figures were tumbling about her, one fair and one dark and both with mops of unruly waves atop their heads. Rune could hear the children squealing and shouting as he approached. They seemed to be playing some sort of game of tag in which the girl, Sif, was chasing after her brother. The little girl was hardly a match for the boy, who nimbly evaded each clumsy lunge. He was going to be quick on his feet, much like his mother. The girl, Rune realized with a smile, would likely take after her father. She'd be a fighter, no doubt about it.

But the boy would always outrun her. And, right now, she was none too happy about it.

Sif plopped down beside her mother with a sniffle, rubbing a grubby hand over her nose as she buried her frustrated little head into Isith's shoulder. The child peeked up long enough for her quicksilver eyes to spot Rune as he was coming up the path. He grinned when Sif smiled over at him and threw the girl a happy wave that he knew she would appreciate. As he suspected, she squealed and pointed him out to her mother.

"Mama, Uncle Rune is here!"

Bram, the boy, stopped his cartwheeling long enough to call out a lisped greeting to his new visitor.

The thief did not try to fight the smile that spread from his lips of its own accord when he saw Isith look up and motion him over with a jovial wave. There was no awkwardness in the gesture and she appeared genuinely happy to see him.

"Rune!" She smiled at him warmly. "What brings you out today?"

Rune half-heartedly looked down at the load in his arms. "Brynjolf wants you to look over these numbers. Some plans, too."

Isith's grin faltered and she pulled a face, her nose wrinkling with reluctance. "The man just can't give me a day off, can he?" She sighed and patted the ground beside her, saying, "Very well, sit them here. I'll take them inside in a few minutes. Oh, and make yourself comfortable. Or, you know, as comfortable as you can be with two children hanging all over you."

Her words were cue enough for young Bram to tug at Rune's sleeve just then. "Sit by me, Uncle Rune! _Pleassse_!"

With a shake of his head, Rune grinned and ruffled the boy's black hair before dropping down across from Isith. He joined seconds later by Bram, who was looking infinitely excited to have one of his favorite thieves sitting at his side.

Rune couldn't take his eyes off Isith as he watched her look lovingly upon her son. There was a light in her eyes that he had rarely been privy to except for the few times he had seen her with the children. Sensing Rune's eyes on her, she glanced over at him and offered him the smallest of smiles, well aware that he had caught her in a very un-Dragonborn moment. Rune had the grace to blush before looking away into the trees.

It was little Sif that broke the peaceful silence, her chipper voice cutting through the air loudly enough to startle everyone.

"Mama says that we can get a hound. Y'know what I'm going to name, Uncle Rune?"

Rune said that he didn't. He was certain he was about to find out though.

"Dog," the girl said matter-of-factly with a short bob of her head.

"Nuh uh!" Bram scowled over at his sister. "That's not a name! We're going to name him Dragon. 'Cause mama kills dragons."

The girl's cherubic features tugged together as she narrowed her tiny eyes on her brother. "But he's not a dragon! He's a _dog_." She gave a little huff and added, "Besides, mama's not going to kill the dog. If we named him Dragon…" The girl shuddered before continuing on with her impressive scowl.

Rune and Isith both watched the exchange with identical expressions of amusement. It was like watching puppies play tug-o-war, one never quite beating the other.

When the children had stopped bickering about the dog they didn't yet have, Rune leaned over the distance to the place where he had dropped the pile of ledgers and scrolls. He was well aware of Isith watching him as he fished through the mass of papers and parchment. Finally, he found what he was looking for and sat back with a pleased _aha! _In his hand he held a stained, travel-worn letter. The pale brown of the parchment was dirtied from the time and distance it had been in delivery. The wax seal was still bound tight and unopened.

"I almost forgot," Rune said, handing the letter over to Isith who accepted it gingerly, "This found its way to the guild yesterday evening. It's for you."

Isith turned the letter over in her palm curiously before reaching an impatiently nudge from the child at her side. Her mother gave her a sidelong frown before saying, "Patience, Sif. I hear it's a virtue."

With sound parental advice like that, Rune didn't see where anything could go wrong. Still, he remained silent as he watched Isith tug open the letter. Her good eye flitted back and forth over the paper and moments later her face was filled with such exuberance that Rune and the two children all found themselves smiling back at her.

Isith's voice rolled from her mouth with happy laughter. She smiled at him and asked, "Do you know who this is from, Rune?"

It was a rhetorical question and Rune simply waited for the answer. Isith scooped Sif up in her lap and motioned from Bram to come join his twin. When both children were situated, Isith held the letter out for them to see.

"This is from your Uncle Vilkas," she was absolutely beaming as she spoke, "He's your papa's twin, just like the two of you."

Bram's eyes lit up and he leaned in to study the handwriting more closely. As he looked, the boy muttered, "Papa says we've met him but I don't remember." He glanced at his mother. "What's he like?" he asked.

"Rune knows him," Isith glanced back at the thief who was patiently sitting across from her. Her lips quirked, eyes flashing, and she asked "So, what's ol' Vilkas like, Uncle Rune?"

Rune flinched under the wide-eyed gaze of the two children who were staring at him expectantly. It had been nearly two years since he had last seen the man in question. Then again, he supposed Isith had directed the question to him for a reason. She rarely spoke of her fellow Companion these days, though for what reasons, he did not know. He supposed that she missed Vilkas in her own way. They had been close, often seeming to have more in common than she and Farkas – be it their tempers or flightiness. Given her extended absence, it had to have been well over two or three years since the last time Isith saw him, a longer time at least than Rune himself.

Rune fumbled for words, not wanting to sell the other man short to his niece and nephew. "Vilkas was a…good man. Very brave and just as smart it seemed. He was a good friend to your mother." He looked to Isith then. "What was it the Companions said about him and Farkas?"

Isith gave the children in her lap a soft pinch so that they turned their attention to her. With a fond smile on her lips, she explained, "They said that your father has the strength of Ysgramor and Vilkas has his smarts."

"Where is he now?" Little Sif asked, cocking her head to one side as she tugged at the letter.

"He left for Morrowind when you were just babes. His letter says that he's in Hammerfell now, though it was written some time ago." An unmistakable look of worry glossed over Isith's face before she could hide it; Rune's trained eye was quick enough to catch it.

"Is he well?" the thief asked.

Isith hummed to herself, glancing once more at the letter. "Seems so. He makes no mention of returning home, though."

Rune fought the urge to reach across the space between them and place his hand on hers. Instead he tried to offer her what comfort he could through his caramel brown eyes. He met her gaze and held it there. "The man was a true Nord, through and through. None of them stay gone from Skyrim too long. He'll be back."

Isith pursed her lips, lost in her own thoughts for a brief moment before shaking herself and folding the letter back into the neat square shape in which it had arrived. She brushed the children off her lap and stood, dusting herself free of any grass and dirt that happened to cling to her linen trousers.

She offered Rune a hand and he clasped his fingers around her wrist, silently enjoying the warm skin under his touch. She went to brush off his shoulders and her movements were noticeably more restrained than they had been a few nights earlier in the Bee and Barb. Her fingers were friendly and gentle as she worked over his armor but nothing beyond that. There was no trace of the intimate familiarity that he'd felt when he'd kissed her in his arms.

Truthfully, he was glad for it. Children were perceptive little creatures, hers seeming especially so. Yet Rune knew that not even the most careful of eyes could have detected anything more than friendship between the two adults.

Isith stepped back from him and tucked the letter into her vest. As she did, she told him, "Farkas'll want to see this. Will you come with me and the children to take it to him?"

Rune could do nothing to stop the way his brows rocketed to his hairline. "Are you sure-"

Isith held of a hand to hush him and kept her voice quiet as she replied, "You know where he is staying, Rune. I cannot go alone. I…would appreciate having someone there."

The thief gave her one of his trademark soft smiles, a gesture he knew she had always welcomed. "Then how could I possibly refuse?"

After he and Isith had gathered up all the ledgers and scrolls and locked them away in the house, they set off back down the road for the city. The children each held one of Isith's hands, tugging her in dizzying circles as they walked. She laughed right along with them until they reached the city gates and she whispered to them to behave and keep their voices down. They obeyed, proving to be most adept at faking good behavior. As he followed them, Rune couldn't help but wonder if Isith had been the same way in her youth.

Riften was busier than when Rune had left its walls earlier that morning. Its market was bustling as the entire city milled about the streets and waterways. The air smelled strongly of fresh fish, hauled in from the lake just a few hours earlier. A few unfamiliar faces dotted the market stalls, likely travelers or merchants from other holds. The thief's keen eyes made note of one in particular. Her traveling clothes were unremarkable compared to the rest but her features caught his eye. He could not quite tell her race, though she was clearly Mer. The poor thing was looking utterly lost, he could tell as much even from where he was standing. He would have helped her but Isith tugged him through the crowd and soon the traveler was forgotten.

When Isith finally stopped long enough to take a good look around, Rune asked, "Do you think Farkas may be out? Perhaps he's not…you know, _there_." He was reluctant to be any more specific as he glanced at the children who were doing their best to stay close to their mother amid the unknown crowd.

Isith cut her eyes at him and shrugged. "We can only hope."

A few more brief seconds and Rune spotted the target in question. _Speak of the daedra and he shall appear_. Well, Rune acknowledged, it wasn't exactly the most fitting metaphor for the towering Companion across the market but it would do. Farkas stood near the blacksmith's forge, his back to them. From what Rune could tell, the man was alone. He nudged Isith and pointed silently to her former lover across the way. The emotions that flitted across the woman's scarred features in the brief second her eyes found him were too numerous to name.

"He's alone, then?" Her voice was hopeful as she craned her neck around to scan the area around Farkas.

Rune looked down at her uncertainly. "Looks that way, guild master. Should I wait here? I can watch the children."

"No, Farkas would not – _wait_…" She paused just as Farkas hefted the blade that was strapped to his back over his shoulder and handed it over to the blacksmith. Her eyes narrowed on the blade and she murmured, "Grimsever…"

Rune winced. The venom laced in the single word surely felt comparable acid and broken glass in the woman's throat. Even the children seemed to have noticed as they turned their bright eyes up toward their scowling mother. Thankfully, being a few feet lower than the crowd, they had yet to spot their father and remained unaware of what had put their mother in such a sudden mood.

Isith turned to Rune and all the apathy he was certain he would see in her face was missing. She simply looked…wrong. Broken like a porcelain doll that had suffered a jagged crack through its pretty features. Her one green eye was wide, the brow above it tilted down in misunderstanding. She shook her head, trying to clear away whatever thoughts had invaded, and Rune felt his heart twist.

He stepped closer to her and whispered, "I'll take the letter to him, Isith." He held his hand out to her only to be refused.

"No," she hissed, "He can come get it himself."

"Isith…"

But she had already turned away with the children at her side. Rune spared one last glance at the poor fool by the blacksmith before following after what used to belong to the other man. Isith cut a path to the temple and through its well kept lawn until she reached the small shrine of Talos in the back. Only then did she let go of the children's hands. She encouraged them to go and play, even going so far to disguise her melancholy by bending down to pick a flower for Sif that she tucked into the girl's white-blonde hair. The children ran off, though they stayed close enough to remain in sight without having to be told.

Rune came to stand by Isith and found that he could not quite bring himself to look at her. He took a steadying breath before asking a question he already knew the answer to.

"Do you really still love him that much?"

It did not hurt him to acknowledge what he knew to be fact. He had always known, even when he had taken Isith in his arms nights before. His guild master had simply been lonely and hurting and he had known as much. He could not bring himself to expect anything more from her.

"Always, Rune." Isith did not look at him as she spoke. She continued, "I miss him _every day_. It was never supposed to be like this. I didn't do the things I did to have _this_ happen." She shook her fist at the ground and suddenly looked more fragile than Rune had ever seen her. She looked like a heartbroken young woman with not even the faintest shadow of the warrior he knew her to be showing from her in that moment.

The way his heart had turned in his chest a few minutes earlier was nothing compared to the way he ached for her now. He has seen firsthand what she had been through. He understood how hard the Dragonborn had fought to have a chance at the happy family that lay just out of her grasp. He also understood that she believed it was a dream that had forever escaped her.

Since the first night Farkas had left the little farmhouse, he had watched as his guild master gave up the fight little by little. It was as if, for all her mighty strength, the blow the warrior had dealt to her heart had been simply too much for her to carry on. It had felled her just as surely as a blade to the chest. Isith had fought against gods and dragons, pushing and pushing until she had won in the end. But when it came to the father of her children, the man she had agreed to marry, she just lay down and took what was handed to her.

"Why?" Rune asked her suddenly.

Isith turned her eyes to him. "Why do I love him?"

Rune shook his head and frowned down his nose at her. "Why is he not with you now?"

"Because he is with her."

"Is he?" Rune snapped, taking on a tone that he had never used against his guild master and friend. "Or do you tell yourself that he is, Isith? Do you know? I don't know for sure. No one knows for sure. People whisper of how the Dragonborn was set aside for some autumn-aged harpy with a chip on her shoulder."

Isith hissed at him and jerked her hand at the children playing a few yards away. What for, Rune did not know. The children knew well enough that there was trouble between their parents. After all, they divided their time between Isith and Farkas whenever Isith could not keep them. And when they were with Farkas they were also with that other woman. Neither of them had yet to speak a word about her.

"Rune –"

"Isith," Rune sighed, his voice softening. He reached to place his hands gently on her shoulders. "We all saw how happy you were when you returned to us after those years away. Farkas…the lad looked as if he could finally breathe air again. He wasn't ready for it when you left –"

"I had to, Rune! Skyrim is at war!" Isith was on the verge of sounding like a snarling wolf. "I went to fight to help keep this land safe for my family. As the Dragonborn, I had to. It wasn't about the honor or the redemption in fighting for the Empire. It was about ensuring that my family knew peace." Her gaze turned to the ground suddenly and she muttered, "I couldn't make him understand, Rune. Now the thing I was fighting for lays shattered at my feet."

She looked up once more when she felt Rune's fingers under her chin, nudging her solemn visage into view. "Hey," he murmured with a faint smile, "I understand. Everyone but Farkas and that man-woman he's living with understands."

The woman before him scowled and turned her face away. "Do you think he loves her?" she asked quietly.

Rune sighed, his breath catching in Isith's long hair and rustling it around her cheek. "Isith, I'm not even sure if there is even anything between them. They're both warriors. Like attracts like. Perhaps it is simply comforting to him to have a steady presence that reminds him so strongly of you."

Isith's scowl deepened. "You just called her a man-woman, Rune."

The thief chuckled and shook his head. "You know what I mean, guild master. Warrior woman, is that better? And I'll have you know that I've spent many a night wondering around the city and not once have I seen Farkas and that _warrior-woman_ strolling about arm-in-arm, gazing at the stars."

Isith scuffed her boot against the ground, toeing the dirt at Talos' feet. "Maybe they prefer to stay inside," she mumbled, her scarred bottom lip jutting out in a way that was pitifully reminiscent of her daughter's best pout.

"Maybe, maybe not. You should ask Farkas, Isith. He doesn't act like a man who is happy from what I've seen. He looks just as lost as you do. Granted, he has been less destructive about it." His last words weren't meant as a pity jab at her recent interest in making alcoholism into a sport. He meant them as the honest to goodness truth.

The woman finally conceded, "I suppose you're right. It's just so damn hard."

"Not as hard as the fight you fought to get this far."

Isith snorted and scowled. "Says you."

Satisfied that there was no reason to pursue the topic further, Rune turned from her and caught sight of the children. He hummed to himself at what he saw, smiling. "It looks like your children may be out for a pet cat rather than a dog, Isith."

He drew her attention to the twins that had found a friend. A large cat, larger than any house cat Rune had ever seen, was rolling around the children's dancing feet. They petted the animal's smooth fur, squealing happily as the silky dappled coat brushed against their fingers. The creature looked up as if it sensed the two new pairs of eyes on it and stared back at the adults through impossibly crystalline eyes that were the exact color of light emeralds.

"What a strange beast," Rune said, more to himself than anyone else, "I have not seen it around here before."

"Nor I," Isith acknowledged, "It's pretty though."

Just as quickly as the cat had joined the children it bolted off suddenly, slipping nimbly around a corner bound for the market and out of sight. Both the children whined at the loss of their newest companion and trudged woefully over to their mother. Isith nudged their chins up as they came to stand in front of her.

"Aw, none of that now. Smile for mama."

Bram was the first give her the halfhearted grin she asked for and was only joined by Sif when Isith playfully tugged at the girl's ear.

With the little ones somewhat placated, she said, "Why don't you two go with uncle Rune for a little while? I have to take care of something." Before the children could reply, Isith bent down and whispered something into their ears. Rune could have sworn he heard the words "con" and "sweet roll" before his guild master straightened once again. This time the children wore no trace of their earlier frowns. They both latched onto either side of him, twining their little hands in his.

Sighing, Rune shrugged just once before saying, "It's not my fault if they learn to pick locks while you're gone, you know? Brynjolf has been insisting."

Isith answered him with a fair imitation of a scowl. "You even think about it, Rune, and I shall never speak to you again."

"Bah, an empty threat," the thief grinned. "Now," he said, "Go take care of the lad, will you? Tell him there are others threatening to whisk his woman out from under him if he doesn't get his head on straight."

Isith smiled at him one last time before turning. "You're too good, Rune. The best man in this whole forsaken country."

He had watched her take only a few steps from him when he saw her pause again before turning and throwing him a wink. He barely caught her words, too quiet as a gust of fall wind picked up and blew against them suddenly. He heard enough to know what she said though.

"Thank you for everything, Rune."

.

* * *

_Now, onwards to the sequel!_

_NOTE: I've recently joined the folks over at Archive of Our Own. It's less restricted and, well, just different than . Plus it took me, like, six months to get accepted so yeah, I'll be frequenting that site a lot._

_But I was just going to tell you all that I've decided to DRASTICALLY overhaul MLOT and it'll be posted there (cause has all these no-no's that I don't wanna deal with). MLOT and the sequel will be combined to form a larger way more epic-ly cool story with two different arcs (the Dark Brotherhood and the sequel arc). I plan on adding more background for characters, more interactions between Isith and the DB, and other changes that I really can't list. It's a lot folks. Oh and the last few chapters and the ending of MLOT will change. _

_It won't be up for a while, though, so don't go looking for it yet. Just a heads up. I'll remind ya'll later with the sequel. Here's the site if you'd like to look around though: archiveofourown .org _

_ I don't know if the link will work but you get the idea. Just go look around under fandoms._


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